


Punk Ass

by kinpika



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Fake Dating, M/M, More tags to be added, Rating subject to change, Some canon compliance, This is so awfully self indulgent, single dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:40:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We’ll probably need an ambulance on standby.”</i>
</p><p> Nothing could ever prepare Ryouma for something like this.</p><p>
  <b>ON HOLD</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

First thing Ryouma does after he practically falls into his apartment is walk to the balcony and throw open the door. Instantly, his room is flooded with warm air, something that he knows he will regret later, but is definitely thankful now. He had missed coming home to his little apartment, having spent the majority of the summer at his family home. Whilst he had loved going home, leaning out over the balcony was definitely something he loved just that little more.

Especially turning to his right, and hearing the faint jazz music coming from the apartment next door. On his neighbour’s balcony, a cigarette that hadn’t quite been put out was still giving its all to burn, smoke not affecting the man who slept with the newspaper over his face in the slightest. Resting his chin in his hand, Ryouma debated waking him up.

His neighbour snorts in his sleep, head shifting under the paper, and Ryouma laughs. Standing up on his toes, he reaches over, and lifts what he can catch of the paper. Enough to tug it down, letting light hit his neighbour’s face, slowly waking him up. With a grimace, his neighbour slowly wakes, and Ryouma lets a lazy grin take over as he looks over.

“Hey there,” he laughs, as he watches the man pull the paper down, a hand running over his face.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice rumbling with the hint of sleep as he pushes himself up.

“Nearly two. You got the weekend off, huh?”

A grumble, and he’s reaching idly for a likely cold coffee beside him. And from the expression on his face as he has a sip, Ryouma knew he guessed right. Quiet falls, as Ryouma leans against the railing of his balcony, tipping his back as he stared up at the sky. Feeling his gaze upon him, Ryouma can’t fight the smile fast enough, and quickly drops his eyes to check that he was right.

Of course he was. Marx was almost predictable. “So, I go back to classes in two weeks.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. So do you want me to climb over this way or are we using the door this time?”

Marx just laughs, that deep noise that was quite rare and this time still a little sleepy, and yet made every part of Ryouma flop. Nimble, only from practice of several years worth of climbing over balconies, Ryouma balances on the railing. There’s a comment, that’s the same as it is every time, that never gets old. Ryouma doesn’t notice it much anymore, already has his feet on the ground and tipping himself forward. Marx catches him, never quite the perfect catch, and the chair wasn’t made for two grown men, but they make it work. Hovering over Marx, Ryouma feels his entire body warm at the slide of a hand against his belly.

“I still have scratches on my back,” Marx says, and to anyone else he might have come off slightly annoyed at such a thing. Ryouma knew better. “And waist.”

Ryouma kisses him then, talking when he should be taking breaths. “Do you know how hard it was to ride a plane back home?” he presses, as he pulls his shirt off, dropping it to the side. “Every time I moved it was like your dick was still inside me.”

Groaning, Marx covers his face. Ah, there was the old man coming out. “Don’t say it like that!”

“It’s true though!” No matter how much he was going to complain about the way Ryouma talked, he was not going to stop Ryouma from unbuttoning his shirt. “Like I had some strange awareness of my ass. The _entire_ plane ride.”

He’s laughing, just barely — if Ryouma was being honest it was closer to chuckling — but he’s swatting hands away. “S-stop!”

“Do you think there’s such thing as a one-man mile high club?”

“Stop talking already!” And Marx kisses him, a win all around. Winding his fingers into Marx’s hair, Ryouma holds him there, not letting him go in case he started complaining about something else. 

Like how they were still on the balcony. “No!” Marx says, when Ryouma whines. “Not in public!”

“It’s not even public! Who is even home at two on a Saturday? No one will see! Now, come on, let me unzip your—”

Almost as if a switch went off in Marx, he wrapped his hands around Ryouma’s wrists, and his voice dropped immediately. “Don’t you dare!”

Clicking his tongue, Ryouma stops. Something was off. Just a little bit. Just enough for Ryouma to rock back and really look at him. Well, the smoking was a surprise — Marx had said just prior to Ryouma leaving that he was giving up, and when Marx gave something up he normally kept to it. Sleeping outside was normal, as the man was capable of sleeping standing, probably. But it was the lack of general cleanliness, no cologne on the shirt even if it was his weekend off. Marx was so adamant about the littlest things that something had rattled him.

“Alright, tell me.” A part of Ryouma knew he was going to regret pressing, but he figured he owed it to Marx. Four years of indulging Ryouma’s idle fantasies of sleeping with an older man with very few strings attached, dealing with each of Ryouma’s problems ranging from stubbing his toe to staying up helping him study and asking for nothing in return, definitely begged for this. “What’s going on, Marx?”

Marx had this habit he probably didn’t know about. He would avoid eye contact when confronted with something. Of course, it was a quick flick of eyes that normally followed a pattern of left, right, and then down. Sometimes, if it was really self indulgent, a request for something ‘behind closed doors’, as he put it, he would bite his lower lip. If it was him turning down Ryouma for the night, work related or child-is-home-for-the-weekend wise, it was a hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

Ryouma wasn’t quite sure what a continuous flexing of his hands was meant to mean, but it probably meant something really bad.

“It is my father’s sixtieth next weekend,” he starts, simply. Ryouma had been given a vague idea of Marx’s family, but the most interaction he had was Marx himself and his son, Siegbert. “Naturally, I have to make an attendance.” 

Raising a brow at the fancy speech coming out, Ryouma just motioned for him to continue. It was easier than interrupting to pick at him using _big words._ Another thing Marx always fell into was talking as if he was some upper class bird. Ryouma had seen the cashmere sweaters in his cupboard, and had driven the ridiculousness home, but that was it. Slowly, it started to dawn on Ryouma that he really didn’t know much about the man, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

“My sister… well, one of them, Camilla, my closest sister, she asked—”

Ryouma couldn't stop himself fast enough from interrupting at that. “Wait, how many sisters do you have?”

Marx looked absolutely nervous. “A few. And a few brothers. I have… a big family.” Just the way he said it was not reassuring in the slightest.

“Okay. Okay, yeah alright keep going. So your favourite sister said…?”

“She’s not my favourite! Well, I mean, I don’t play favourites. Anyway, Camilla asked if I was bringing a partner.”

“Not your, uh, ex-wife?” 

“Er, no, the family knows we divorced several years ago.”

The family, Ryouma repeats. It made Marx sound like he came from some sort of mafia, and honestly, the way the conversation was going, Ryouma wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if Marx was going to inherit the title of Godfather at some point. Whether or not that was an attractive thought was totally going to be determined by Marx’s next statement.

Clearing his throat, Marx still wouldn’t look at him in the eye. “Well, without thinking, I may have told her I was bringing someone.”

Damn, no mafia. “Oh, bad move.”

At the offhanded comment, Marx _almost_ pouted. “Yes, well, I told her I was bringing, um… _you_.”

“Is there someone from wo— _what_?! Me?!” Well, that completely blew Ryouma out of the water as far as where Marx was heading towards. Things he was not expecting: this.

Marx turns scarlet then, as if this was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen in his life. Surely, Ryouma could list at least a dozen things in the last few years that were more embarrassing for the man, but apparently this truly was his lowest point. Covering his face in his hands, Marx started to apologise at such a high speed, Ryouma nearly missing the rest of the story as he was caught up in Marx’s everything.

“I’ve spoken of you before — remember that time just before you left we were interrupted by a call from my sister, that was Camilla — and she said you should come, because I said we have been seeing each other for some time, and then she said —”

“Whoa, okay, timeout.” Making a ’T’ with his arms, Ryouma waits for Marx to take a deep breath and drop his hands. Finally, he looked him in the eye. “So, wait, what is the actual problem here?”

“I invited you to my father’s birthday party without… telling you.”

“Okay. Alright, okay and your sister convinced you to bring someone?”

Marx drops his gaze for a second, before holding firm. “Somewhat.”

Ryouma stands then, taking a few steps back to lean on the railing. “Alright,” he repeats. “Um, okay.”

“If you don’t want to, I will understand. I should not have said it—”

“Wait, Marx, let me just… get my head together.”

Marx took the opportunity to flee inside his apartment at the insistence he needed coffee, and to make a cup for Ryouma too. Ryouma didn’t even manage a chance to turn down the offer, because he far preferred tea, but Marx was gone. All he could hear was the kettle over the low hum of music, and almost wanted to point out that Marx had some fancy coffee machine, which he still couldn’t operate. Ryouma almost walked into the apartment to make Marx a coffee, and stopped himself. 

Pushing his hair out of his face, Ryouma wasn’t quite sure where to start. Apart from the glaringly obvious problem of making an appearance beside Marx, there was no real beginning. They had never gone out together. If they ate together, it was take-out. Sometimes there were movies, sometimes there was awkward make-outs with Marx’s son running in at one a.m. because he was afraid of the dark. 

Ryouma didn’t even know what Marx’s favourite colour was. And yet he owed him four years worth of attention and understanding. 

Surely tagging along to Marx’s father’s party would totally make up for anything. From the way Marx was acting, it was almost like it was the end of the world, or at least something bad would happen at the party. Ryouma’s interactions with any Nohrians had generally taken a sour turn, but those few girls in his class were amusing at least. Surely he wouldn’t be the only stranger there either. 

And it was for Marx. Ryouma just had to keep reminding himself that the old man had done far more than any neighbour should ever do for a twenty year old kid who wanted to flex being out of home for the first time. Marx had helped him move his furniture in, paid off his first bill and even brought dinner over like he had some sixth sense that that particular night was tight on Ryouma’s wallet. 

It took another ten minutes of talking himself into the idea for Ryouma to call out to Marx. The kettle had long since finished boiling, and Marx was lingering by the door. Taking the offered coffee — no, _tea;_ even in his moment of distress he had remembered — Ryouma motioned for Marx to sit once more. “Alright. So I tag along and we make an appearance?”

“Yes.”

“We just have to… to act like a couple, right?”

“… Yes.”

Something occurred to Ryouma. “Is Siegbert going?” If he was going, then they were going to have to explain that, yes, Ryouma and his dad were dating. Would Siegbert even understand that concept? Ryouma had a sneaking suspicion that Marx was the type of person who would avoid explaining anything to his son. Would probably leave it to the poor, unsuspecting neighbour, who got roped into pretending to be his partner for a weekend (it was such an odd term, Ryouma found he didn’t like it at all). 

“Yes, his cousins will be there and he hasn’t seen many of them in a while. He was very excited at the prospect.” Ryouma made it his personal mission to have Marx explain to Siegbert that they were ‘together’. Especially if they wanted to be convincing.

Having Siegbert there might have even been slightly more reassuring. Naturally, Marx would go and take Siegbert even if Ryouma turned him down, but Ryouma was quite fond of the little kid. He could be quite hilarious in how he copied Marx.

Ryouma honestly could’ve thought of at least another thirty reasons why it would be a horrible idea to go to this thing and pretend, but he made his decision regardless. He was going in blind, and the thought terrified him. “Okay.”

Marx pauses, coffee raised to his lips, and lowers it once more. “I beg your pardon?”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll do it. Just a weekend, right?”

There’s that face again, when he had to break really bad news. Ryouma wasn’t quite sure how much bad news he could take. “It could quite possibly turn into two weekends.”

“Oh. I don’t know if I wanna know why but alright. Yes. I’ll do it.”

“You can back out at any time.”

“Please don’t put me off after I’ve said yes.”

Marx finally laughs, a full belly of a laugh that isn’t tampered down by sleep or embarrassment. His shoulders shake, and it almost sounds like relief. Ryouma hadn’t realised his presence meant so much to the older man, and that was quite a distressing thought. He decided he might leave it to worry about later on in the night, when he had nothing better to do. Right now, he just settled for watching Marx slowly drink his awful instant coffee that he kept making faces at, and drained the rest of his tea.

“Seriously though, how many siblings do you have? I mean, I have three that I’ve told you about, but you never talk about yours.”

“As I said, my family is big. Most of my time was spent with Camilla, Leon and Elise, however.” A fond sort of smile made its way onto Marx’s face, and Ryouma had to ask the next question.

“Alright, how old is this Camilla then?”

If Marx kept looking like he didn’t want to answer, Ryouma was going to climb back over to his balcony and shut the door on Marx’s face. “Oh, she would be around your age, I suppose.”

Ryouma nearly spits his tea out. “My age?! And… Leon? Elise?”

“Leon will be turning… twenty soon? I believe? And Elise should be eighteen next year.”

“Oh my god.”

“My father had a few wives.” The way Marx said it, just made it seem like that was another kind of story Ryouma didn’t want to get mixed up in. Ryouma almost wanted to tell him it was a little too late for that now. From the dramas he had running on the television as background noise while he studied, Marx’s family problems were definitely getting up there. 

“ _Just_ a few.”

Marx made that disapproving face again, like he was chiding some teenager. Well, with his potentially youngest sibling being seventeen years his junior, at least from Ryouma’s rough lot of maths, treating Ryouma like some child was probably second nature. And he was a father, his mind reminded him, which was just another pile of issues.

“Marx, you are going to have to fill me in on, y’know, your _family_ before I get there.”

“I know.” Oh, just the way he sighed that really worried Ryouma. Was this what getting cold feet felt like? Ryouma had never really backed out of anything, as far back as he could remember. Normally there was some blind confidence in him that convinced him to do something, like when he was sixteen and jumping off sheer cliff faces into the water below with Saizou and Kagerou hollering from the top. And that other time, when he was nineteen and tried rather successfully to drive his dad’s really expensive car, only for his mum to catch wind of the whole thing and ground him ‘for eternity’. Ryouma almost relied on that confidence to carry him through most of his life.

It was failing him miserably now. But he couldn’t go back on his word. Not with just how Marx had seemed so damn happy and relieved that Ryouma had said ‘yes’. Ryouma didn’t want to think about that anymore. All the exhaustion of the travel was weighing on him, finally, kicking in the back of his head alongside being overloaded with far too much information and feelings. He felt like he’d crossed a personal border with Marx he almost didn’t want to, and grimaced. 

“Marx,” he started, setting his cup down on the little table and leaning over the older man. “Do me one favour.”

“Of course,” Marx answers so readily, setting his mug down beside Ryouma’s.

“Just like, fuck me or something already. Please.”

Marx smiles, and stands; always so obliging. Ryouma doesn’t want to think about any family issues, or pretending to be some stupid couple in love raising some kid. Ryouma doesn’t want to think about meeting Marx’s big family and being introduced to his father and having to smile through it all and not mess up.

Ryouma just wanted to think about Marx’s hands at his hips, sliding down to cup his ass and lift him so easily. On the up, Ryouma wraps his legs around Marx’s waist, taking advantage of the sudden height, and kissing him deeper than before. All he wanted to think about was coming home to his own apartment, and lifestyle, and the hot dad next door who was single and lonely most of the time. He just wasn’t too sure what part he had missed out on and what he had gained instead.

Being carried into Marx’s apartment, Ryouma doesn’t think about how it just wasn't as familiar anymore, now that he could see the family photos out the corner of his eye, and how he knew there were a bunch of postcards on the fridge. How there was a deflating soccer ball in the corner or how Marx’s laptop was open to a job that was still an utter mystery to him. 

As Ryouma lay on Marx’s bed, lifting his hips as his pants were pulled down, he stared at the ceiling. For one whole moment, Ryouma considered pushing him away and telling him what he felt. But them Marx had his mouth on his cock and that thought was lost on him entirely.

Ryouma would worry about it in the morning, when he didn’t have his hands in Marx’s hair and one leg being positioned over his shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [bad girls playing in bg]
> 
> I've had this like in drafts for months. don't ask. it will be short probably. this is to distract myself from posting golden dream in one go.
> 
> any problems w this i will read over in the morning
> 
> EDIT: this is multi chap. i posted this at 2.30am. no higher brain function after 1am.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, little man.”

Seeing Siegbert out in the hall was definitely not something Ryouma had been planning on, but it was alright. Nothing he couldn’t handle, as Siegbert seemed to just light up in an instant, running over. “Ryouma!”

One thing Ryouma had to appreciate, was how a six year old Siegbert just couldn’t quite wrap get his tongue around his name, ending up something more like ‘Roo-ma’. Ruffling the little boy’s hair, Ryouma only laughed. “Why’re you out here? Where’s your dad?”

A pout. Ah, Ryouma thinks, bad question. “Auntie Camilla is on the phone ’nd father said ‘wait outside ‘cause it’s very important’.”

Just the way that Siegbert tries to imitate Marx’s apparent _authoritative_ voice has him snort, and he crouches down. Ryouma still didn’t quite get the father thing, but at least Siegbert was able to get the word out now — although, Ryouma couldn’t deny how hilarious it had been when the boy had switched from ‘papa’ to ‘father’. Marx had blamed television, and was the most heartbroken over the change.

“Hey, wanna help me take stuff to the car?”

“Yes!”

Siegbert is the one who runs in first, while Ryouma calls out after him. Faintly, he can hear Marx in his room, just barely catching words as he walks in. At least Siegbert was the kind to only take the necessities, as Ryouma catches him shoving at least two bears and an action figure that was absolutely lost on Ryouma into his bag. Maybe he had remembered something last minute. Ryouma didn’t mind in the slightest, as he knocked on Marx’s door.

Conversation on the other side halted, with a “Give me a minute, Siegbert!” reverberating through. Ryouma would never know how Marx was able to do that.

But he did know how to scare the guy a little. “It’s Ryouma!”

Leaning against the door, Ryouma nearly fell headfirst into Marx as it was pulled open suddenly. In hindsight, Ryouma figured he should’ve expected Marx to know he was right there, but when he catches himself on the frame, the surprise on Marx’s face says otherwise. Furrowing his brows, a tiny ‘v’ forms, and the effect was devastating. 

“Hey—”

Ryouma gets a hand over his mouth, as Marx pulls the phone away from his ears. He mouths something, that seems vaguely like a plea for being quiet, and it’s nearly lost on Ryouma, had he not seen the screen of Marx’s phone light up. A photo of a woman with such vibrant hair smiled back at him, and Ryouma whistles.

“Who’s that?”

A tinny voice comes through, and Ryouma does indeed notice that Marx has his volume up rather high for not being on speaker. But, alas, he doesn’t catch the words, as Marx covers up the phone with his hand. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he says, simply, but his cheeks are coloured pink.

“Yeah, well, hurry up. Siegbert is getting hungry.”

Marx sends him a scathing look, and shuts the door on his face. Laughter leaves Ryouma, and he turns, nearly bowling over said son in the first place. Damn, Ryouma had forgotten just how quick Siegbert could be when he wanted to. “Your dad’s almost finished,” he says, without any prompt, and wonders if he had kneed Siegbert by accident with the vague look he received.

Siegbert mumbles as he looks down, and Ryouma realises he really doesn’t like kids and how he can never work out if he said the right thing. “Why can’t I talk?” Siegbert asks. Ryouma assumes the sudden attitude change is to do with the woman on the other line (Camilla? God, he thinks that was her), and he flounders.

“We’ll be there soon, yeah? Then you can talk all you want.”

Siegbert was ever the master of a permanent pout, and crosses his arms, somehow. Never did he fail to amaze Ryouma with how he could manage such an adult expression with a teddy bear under one arm and some chewed samurai toy under the other. He really is too much like Marx, Ryouma thinks, one part amused, one part kind of uncomfortable.

Half fearing some sort of meltdown (no matter how well-behaved Siegbert was when he cried he _cried_ ), Ryouma has half a mind to barge down the door. Siegbert was doing that teary-eyed-shuffling-feet sort of thing that really had Ryouma worry, and he knocks.

“Marx, fu—pete’s sake, hurry up!” Patting himself on the back for the save, Ryouma crouches down again. “Tell him to hurry up, too.”

Children are so easy to distract, Ryouma muses, as Siegbert seems to abandon the little crying act in favour of beating down the door, yelling for his _father_. That would never not amuse Ryouma.

“Alright, alright, I’m finished!” Marx looked several shades of pissed off as he threw open the door once more, but Ryouma didn’t mind so much this time. Not with the way Siegbert launched into a very deep discussion about why he should’ve talked to ‘Auntie Camilla’ in the only way six year olds could.

“Yes, of course, Siegbert, you are absolutely right.” And there was that thing Marx had always done. Even when Ryouma had first moved into the building and Siegbert was barely two years old, Marx simply chatted back to every little gurgle. Not that Marx had ever really had his head screwed on, in Ryouma’s opinion, but as Marx picked Siegbert up and continued to just talk back without thinking, it had always been pretty cute — and Ryouma had said so too.

Following the pair out into the little living area, Ryouma finally starts. “Are we going yet?”

“Yes _._ ”

“Are you sure this time?”

“ _Positive_.”

“Like, sure-sure? Super sure? No random phone calls from your great-grandmother incoming?”

“My great-grandmother can barely work her hearing aid, let alone a phone.”

“… _wait_ , she’s still alive?!”

Marx’s face remains absolutely impassive as Ryouma tries to gauge just how old she might be. Was that a possibility? How young did Marx’s mother have him? 

“Ryouma?”

“Yes?”

“I was kidding.”

“O-oh… Oh, hey! Marx, you told a joke!”

The twitch in Marx’s jaw said enough for Ryouma to just laugh as he walked out ahead of them. Siegbert still held up with one arm, Marx balanced another two bags with his other, and still managed to lock the door. Ryouma took the stairs two at a time, his own bag slung over his shoulder, only running up once more as Marx reminded him to check if he locked the door leading to the balcony. 

“Stop nagging me, old man. Jeez, you’re worse than my mum sometimes.”

“I can hear you.”

Clicking his tongue, Ryouma locks his front door for the last time, and with one last jiggle of the handle, turns around. “I meant for you to!”

There’s a mumble, something that sounds vaguely like an insult, but Ryouma doesn’t mind. If anything, he wants the conversation to keep going. Wants the back and forth to keep going up until they get ushered into meeting Marx and his family. It would be able to keep the nerves at bay, at least, and Ryouma was starting to feel it the more they lapsed into silence.

Only the night before, Marx had quickly run through his family. And, it had only been the immediate family he had spoken of — he was quite under the belief that any aunts and uncles would not attend, but he never specified how many he had. Ryouma had been introduced to more people whose names he would never be able to remember in time, than he had ever spent time around during his years studying. Hell, he was sure there were more people in Marx’s family than there were in those from his small town back home. 

Marx had always told him it would be fine if he forgot, as he didn’t expect him to remember everyone. Ryouma would have been insulted any other time, for Marx to doubt his absolutely stellar memory, but when Marx flicked through photos of his father (Garon?) with another wife, another child, another wife, another child, it had made him worry.

When Marx is wrangling Siegbert into the booster seat, promising all sorts of horrible things that any other time of the day he would be against, Ryouma does wonder if it was too late to pull out. “Hey, Marx,” he starts, kicking at any loose stones. 

A hum is his response, and Ryouma bites his lip. Marx wouldn’t really mind if he walked back upstairs (he kept saying it would be fine, as if he expected Ryouma to just leave). He would be disappointed, and probably give Ryouma that _one_ disappointed look he had mastered since Siegbert was four. It was enough to have Ryouma definitely do all sorts of things, like no music before eight am, and no climbing over the balcony unannounced when he had a business meeting. 

But. “Ryouma, what’s the matter?”

He can’t force himself to admit he was pretty scared of going in too deep. “You look like a suburban housewife.” Ryouma takes advantage of how Marx looks down at himself, almost offended, to beat himself up over the comment. 

“I do not.”

“You have a jumper tied over your shoulders. And you are wearing slacks. Marx, you _are_ a suburban housewife.”

“Ryouma, you don’t even know what that means.”

Raising his brows, Ryouma keeps it going. Distracts both of them. “I see enough of those women on my soaps to know what one looks like.”

Marx is one part amused, at least, and the rest of him looks over at Ryouma in disbelief. “And what would you suggest would _change_ my image, then?”

It’s a challenge, and Marx never normally presents them. Sometimes, he bites at the ones Ryouma offers, almost always reluctant, as if Marx was just trying amuse him. Ryouma can’t help himself, striding close, and pulling that damn jumper off, throwing it over into the spare seat with a ‘sorry’ aimed at Siegbert. He also can’t help pushing Marx’s collar open just that little more, and standing up, on his toes, to mess up Marx’s hair. “Ah.”

Hands raising, just a fraction, Ryouma realises where he is, who is in the car, asking why he can’t join in. Stepping back, Ryouma doesn’t know what to say, tongue heavy in his mouth as Marx colours a steady pink. With a forced cough, Marx turns back to Siegbert, and promises they are leaving now. 

Ryouma doesn’t wait for the cue, opening the door to the passenger’s side and sliding in. His hands tingled, somewhat, as if that was the most intimate thing he had ever done with Marx. It wasn’t as if he had never messed up his hair before, fondly recalling one quickie ten minutes before Marx was due to leave for work. Clenching his fists, Ryouma let his head fall back against the chair, and reminded himself they were going to have to do things like this in front of Marx’s family. Have to make it real, he told himself, as Siegbert started singing when Marx finally got in the car.

Marx hadn’t fixed his hair, and Ryouma couldn’t stop looking out the corner of his eye.

For the most part, the drive was uneventful. Ryouma climbed into the back at the fifth set of lights, to backseat drive with Siegbert. Of course, Siegbert had been delighted at the companionship, and had even shared nuggets with Ryouma, while Marx drove on, burger in hand. 

“Hey, Siegbert, what toy did you get?”

“This thing.” He held up some weird little dragon figure, and Ryouma looked down at his own.

“Let’s swap, yeah? And I’ll give you… three fries.”

“Siegbert, don’t trade with him. That’s a bad deal.”

Ryouma snorts at the horrified look on Siegbert’s face, and knees the back of Marx’s chair for good measure. “That was a great deal, shut up.”

“Father said it was bad.”

“He’s lying. He wants your toy too.”

A gasp, as Siegbert stares at the toy. It was some weirdly adorable figure, and Ryouma had to wonder if they were running out of ideas for stuff aimed at kids these days. “But, I’m your favourite, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s swap!”

Despite Marx’s protests, Ryouma gets the ugly dragon figure, and sneaks in a few of Marx’s fries just to make it even. Eventually, Siegbert winds down, Ryouma’s sunglasses sitting far too big on his head, and slipping over his nose. Grinning, Ryouma turns the camera on them, posing as he takes a photo. If Marx noticed, he doesn’t comment, only smiling back through the mirror.

Flicking through whoever was on his list on his app, Ryouma sent out the photo to only those who knew Siegbert, and settled back in the seat. Going through his games, Ryouma waited for the inevitable replies to filter through, and noticed a growing trend. “Hey, Marx, why are you like level eighty already? Didn’t you say you were busy?”

There’s a noncommittal noise, as Marx turns the car right onto the highway. “Which game are you referring to?”

“That’s sad, man.”

Ryouma can see the tips of Marx’s only visible ear go pink, and laughs quietly. Maybe it was a mistake to download all these apps onto Marx’s phone and show him how to play. Ryouma only did it in the first place for his own bonuses. Of course, Marx raced on ahead and completely overtook him. Typical.

As he’s tapping away, one earphone in as tinny voices sing up at him, Ryouma realises, and almost misses a note. Making a noise, Ryouma drops his game in his lap, and almost misses the ‘are you alright?’ sent his way.

“Fine. Fucked up my combo.”

Marx doesn’t respond, but Ryouma can see him looking at him out the rearview mirror. Gritting his teeth, Ryouma looks away, and maybe Marx lets it go. He hoped so, as he definitely did not want any awkward analysis from Marx at this time of day, not when Siegbert was sleeping so quietly beside him and they were going over a hundred down the freeway. It wouldn’t end well for anyone. Ryouma simply opted to close his eyes, and hope they would arrive soon.

When his phone buzzes, Ryouma nearly has a heart attack waking up. He hadn’t even noticed they’d pulled over, far out of the city limits now. Wiping his eyes, his phone brightens once more, and he shoves it in his pocket, unbuckling himself and stepping out. Holding a hand up, Ryouma squinted into the afternoon sun, and turned around to see Marx climb up the slight hill.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, opening the boot and rifling through one of the bags he had packed full of ‘necessities’. 

“You didn’t. Phone went off.” Ryouma isn’t quite sure where to go, leaning against the car as Marx seems to find what he was looking for, pulling out a wet wipe very carefully. Yet, the entire action has him grin, watching Marx fuss about wiping his hands, and whatever zipper he had touched. He was so worried about the smallest details, and it was oddly adorable.

For once, Ryouma didn’t quite find that thought horrifying, and decided not to linger on it. “How far out are we now?” he asks, kicking himself off the boot as Marx goes to close it.

“A few more hours, give or take. At least there’s no traffic this time.” Marx pauses, as he looks up at Ryouma. “Are you alright? You’ve been fairly quiet.”

Ryouma wonders if the sweat he had broken out was visible. “I’m fine. A little tired.” Toe digging into the gravel underneath, Ryouma can’t help just how easily it was to default to teasing, to bluff his way out of it. “I did keep you up all night. I’m surprised you got up early enough to pick up Siegbert.”

Marx doesn’t bat an eyelash, and Ryouma feels his own cheeks colour this time. “Ryouma, if you didn’t want to come, you shouldn’t have forced yourself.”

“W-what are you talking about? I said I would go.”

It isn’t until Marx looms over him that Ryouma remembers just how tall he really was. “Even _last night_ you were worried. May have been why you came so easily.” Ryouma also remembers that given enough pressing, Marx was more than willing to talk back exactly the same.

“At least I managed to get out of my pants first.”

Snorting, Marx simply shakes his head. “Sometimes, I wonder when you will talk to me directly, instead of deflecting questions.”

Caught out. Ryouma bites his lip again, chewing a little too hard, but doesn’t look away. It was like he couldn’t force himself to hide away again, and he shrinks back just a fraction. “I said it was fine, Marx. After this weekend, we go back to how we always were. Simple.”

Ryouma doesn’t know what the reaction on Marx’s face meant, but he knew he had said the wrong thing. Marx looked a little like he had been slapped in the face, but the expression is quite literally wiped away, as Marx presses the heel of his palm against his eye. Just from that action alone, he looked a little more tired than usual, as if he was fraying around the edges, and Ryouma knew he had something to with it.

“Do you want me to drive for a bit?” he offers, although they both knew he was horrible at it. But it meant that he wouldn’t have to see Marx constantly staring into the back of the car. Marx might even go to sleep for the rest of the trip, a small grace.

Marx doesn’t reply, before he simply shakes his head, and walks back to the driver’s seat. Taking that as a ‘no’, Ryouma wonders if he would drive off without him. He could hitch a ride back to the city, and ignore the world for the rest of the week. 

“Ryouma, get in the car already.”

Or not. Dropping his shoulders, Ryouma walks around to the passenger’s side, clambering in with all the grace of realising his legs really were asleep after all, and standing up did nothing to get blood moving again. Taking over the music, Marx starts up the car again, and as Ryouma is fiddling through Marx’s iPod, he remembers his own phone.

Settling on some playlist that Ryouma vaguely remembers from one night with lots of wine and bad movies, he pulls out his phone once more. Thumb scrolling through the replies on the photo, he doesn’t miss the little message notification. His heart hammers in an instant, at the name on the screen, followed by a series of emojis that were not his choice. Sliding a look over at Marx, Ryouma decides against saying anything, and opens the text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> too bad the polishing nails emoji doesnt appear in notes bc thats me rn
> 
> hmu on tumblr/twitter talk ryoumarx to me and how bad (GOOD) they are for each other


End file.
